What I Did For Love
by xXBlackOpalsXx
Summary: Everything I did, I did for him. I just wanted to be perfect for him. All I wanted was for him to notice me and maybe even love me as much as he did his precious angel.
1. Prologue

** I was inspired to write this by the ballet Swan Lake with a little bit of Darren Aronofsky's Black Swan thrown in. I really hope this turns out to be as good as I think it's going to be. Anyway, I own nothing except for my OC, Melina Toupin, and the plot. Enjoy! :)** Prologue

When the clock struck midnight, not a soul in the Opera Populaire was walking about. Fear of the Phantom of the Opera, who had come to deliver his scandalous opera at the annual New Year's Masquerade after three months of silence, had driven all the inhabitants of the famous opera house to retiring to their rooms almost as soon as the sun went down. No one wanted to be caught alone wandering the halls at night while a madman could have quite possibly been hiding in the shadows just waiting to catch his next victim by the neck with his infamous Punjab lasso. So, as the sun would begin its descent, all the workers, principles, chorus girls, and ballet rats alike would hurry to finish whatever business they were in the middle of and scurry to the safety of their rooms. However, on the night of January 2, 1871, a lone figure could be seen on the Opera Populaire's rooftop.

Upon closer inspection, the figure could be identified as a woman around the age of twenty. She stood out well against the blackness of the night for she was clad in an all white ensemble. This ensemble included a tutu in the classic 'pancake' style with the top layer of netting adorned with small feathers, a fitting bodice with a few layers of tarlatan and muslin bedecked with gems to sparkle like diamonds and feathers on the breasts, a crown that mimicked Caesar's crown of laurels but designed as two wings, white tights, and finished with a pair of pale pink pointe slippers. She proved to be skilled with those pointe shoes as she lifted herself onto her toes and began to dance. Her body moved with the grace of a prima ballerina as she glided across the Populaire's rooftop to the sound of music only she could hear. Although the roof's rough surface snagged the delicate satin of her slippers, the young woman continued to pour her heart and soul into her last performance. As she spun and leapt through the routine she had memorized, her costume and the snow around her became flecked with scarlet.

She continued on, dancing until she found herself on the roof's ledge. Tears streamed down her face, causing the white makeup on her face to run, as she lifted her bleeding arms into fifth position and took one last look at her imaginary crowd. Despite the cascade of tears, there was a determined look in her eyes as she took one final step backwards.

Time slowed to a crawl as she fell through the frigid air. The young woman thought through her short life as she watched the grinning moon and winking stars get further and further away from her. She saw a half-white mask peering over the edge of roof and couldn't stop the content smile that spread across her face; she was happy to know that she got to see him one last time. She closed her eyes to savor that image and uttered one last word:

"_**Erik."**_

With a sickening _CRACK _she landed on the front steps leading to the doors of the Opera Populaire. Blood poured from the back of her crushed skull, pooling on the marble steps and soaking into her dark hair. Her limbs, splintered in various places due to her landing, bent at odd angles that no human should be able to achieve. Despite the grotesque sight she was, the fallen ballerina still had that complacent smile on her tear-stained face.


	2. Dare

Chapter 1: Dare

**Eight Years Earlier… October 15, 1862**

"Melina, you will hold your attitude until I say you can relax! Now you will repeat the combination!" the stern voice of Madame Giry called out.

"Yes, Madame," I replied.

If I did not respect Madame as much as I did, I would have complained about my throbbing toes and begged for a moment of rest. Having just begun to dance en pointe with a few other select ballerinas my age (twelve) just two weeks prior, my poor toes were not used to the torment of dancing in pointe shoes. Of course, I wasn't the only one in pain. I looked over at my fellow dancers and could see the traces of pain in their eyes. Madame worked us to the bone, accepting nothing less than perfect right from the start. I suppose her passion for the art of ballet is what made me respect her so much.

Although my own passion for dance could not even begin to compare to that of Madame Giry, I still loved to dance. My mother, Emilie Toupin, had been a ballerina of a small theater but had given up her career after marrying my father, Pierre Toupin, and becoming pregnant with my older sister. Giselle was always meant to be a dancer. As soon as she could walk without falling over every two steps, Mother began to teach her ballet. When Giselle was five, Mother gave birth to me, Melina Toupin. My father, who was an accomplished conductor, saw in me the music prodigy he had always wanted. However, he was sorely disappointed when he noticed how watching my mother and sister dance interested me far more than singing or playing piano ever did. So, with a somewhat heavy heart, he allowed my mother to begin teaching me how to dance alongside Giselle when I turned three.

When I was four and Giselle was nine, our parents decided to send Giselle to the Opera Populaire to dance under the tutelage of the famed Antoinette Giry. Sadly, just two days before she was going to move into the prestigious opera house to begin her dancing career, Giselle had a terrible accident. She had gone out riding, much to the displeasure of our mother, on her horse. Nightingale was a sweet horse and didn't have a temperamental bone in her body, but while Giselle was riding her that day, something had spooked the animal causing her to throw Giselle right over her head. The way my sister had landed on her right leg lamed her for life; she would never dance again.

Seeing my crippled sister sob for days over the knowledge that her dreams to perform would never come true inspired me to dance more. I believed if she couldn't dance, then I could dance for the both of us. So with newfound dedication, I continued to dance under my mother's instruction. When I turned seven, my mother decided that I should be sent to Paris. Madame Giry came to collect me a week after my mother made the announcement. After tearful goodbyes and promised visits, I left my home in Troyes and was in a carriage bound for Paris.

Studying ballet under Madame Giry was a completely different experience than learning from my mother. Where my mother had been lenient, Madame was not. Madame expected every rehearsal to be danced as if it were the last time any of us would put a pair of ballet shoes on our feet. Her very presence demanded respect, and respect her we all did.

"Melina! Stop daydreaming and prepare to dance, you silly girl!" Madame barked, thumping her cane on the ground.

My cheeks flushed as I heard the other girls muffle their giggles with their hands. I quickly took up my position and waited for the piano to begin. I went through the combination, focusing on every move my body made. My leg shook with the effort to support all my weight and my toes seemed to scream in agony as I held the final attitude. Madame seemed to be punishing me for my earlier mistakes and for daydreaming and would not allow me to relax for what felt like an eternity. Knowing better to plead for mercy, I kept a straight face and focused on not toppling over. I heaved a giant sigh of relief when she finally told me I could move. "That was acceptable. However, I expect you to have this routine down almost perfectly by our next rehearsal. Do you understand, Melina?"

"Yes, Madame."

"Good. Now, you are all dismissed. I hope you will all be prepared for our lesson on Wednesday."

We performed our usual reverence before taking our leave of the studio. I was getting ready to exit the room myself, when I heard Madame call me back. Expecting a thorough tongue lashing for my horrible performance that day, I warily approached the ballet mistress. "Melina, even though it is only the second week, I can tell that you are excelling quickly en pointe. I am pleasantly surprised."

I blinked in confusion. Had I heard her right? Was Madame praising my pointe work? "Thank you, Madame," I replied, dipping into a small curtsey.

"I've watched you dance for four years now. Besides my own daughter, I have not seen someone so dedicated to their dancing. I believe, given a few years' time, you have an excellent chance of becoming one of this opera house's best dancers, perhaps even good enough to achieve the position of prima ballerina."

I couldn't stop the beaming smile that spread across my face. Prima ballerina was a dream for all the young ballet rats at the Opera Populaire and I was no exception. To be told that I myself had the chance to become prima ballerina was like being told that a prince wanted to marry me. "However, just because you have the potential to become a great dancer, does not mean that you will. You must keep that passion for dancing you already have, and you must also stay focused. No more daydreaming during rehearsal, understand? If you keep getting distracted, not only will your technique suffer but you also run the risk of injuring yourself beyond repair."

"Yes, Madame. I understand."

"Very well. You are dismissed then."

After a quick curtsey, I all but skipped out of the room with a big grin on my face. I went to bed that night dreaming of everyone watching me execute moves perfectly on the Opera Populaire's grand stage.

The Next Night…

"Come on, Melina!" my good friend Cecile cried, tugging on my arm.

"But it's so scary! You know how much I hate spiders, and there's bound to by a lot of those down there!" I protested, trying to pull my arm out of the death-grip Cecile had on me.

"But Madeline dared us to! We have to do it! If we don't, she'll tell everyone what babies we are and we'll become the laughing stock of the whole corps de ballet!"

We had been in our dormitories when a friend of ours, Madeline, dared us to venture into the cellars of the opera house and bring back a bottle of wine. Not that any of us planned to drink it since the taste did not particularly appeal to us twelve year olds, but it would prove that we had actually gone down there. Cecile had always been adventurous and accepted the challenge for both of us without any hesitation. I, on the other hand, was a bit more cautious when it came to doing stuff. After Giselle was crippled, Mother took great precautions when it came to my safety and, over the years, her ways had rubbed off on me. The last thing I wanted was to be caught doing something naughty by Madame or worse, destroying my chances of dancing on stage forever by getting myself injured somehow. However, Cecile wouldn't take no as an answer and dragged my struggling body out the door, much to the amusement of all our dormitory friends.

So, there I was, being forced against my will to go into the cellars and bring back a bottle of wine. "But what about the Phantom?" I asked.

"An old ghost isn't going to catch us! I'm sure we could outrun some old spirit any day!" Cecile replied confidently.

Although Cecile didn't seem to have any qualms about the Opera Ghost, there were many in opera house that shuddered at the mention of him. For years, the specter haunted the halls and pulled pranks on the performers. Every person who had taken over management always bent to the invisible man's will and would do anything to keep him happy, including reserving Box Five for his use. Not long after I arrived at the Opera Populaire, I had overheard Joseph Bouquet, a lustful stagehand, telling some of the older ballerinas and chorus girls he was trying to woo about the phantom. His description is one that I would never forget.

"Like yellow parchment is his skin…A great black hole serves as the nose that never grew…You must always be on your guard or he will catch you with his magical lasso!"

At this point Joseph ensnared one of the girls with the lasso he had made and took her away to do things that my young mind didn't yet know about. (Of course, one doesn't stay ignorant to such things while living in the Opera Populaire, and I learned just what exactly a man and a woman do behind closed doors just by listening to the older girls talk.) Hearing Joseph talk about the Phantom's looks did instill some fear in me, but it was mostly the pranks he pulled that truly frightened me. If things were not going his way, the Phantom would make the lives of the performers a living hell. Some of the stunts he pulled were relatively harmless, such as causing wardrobe malfunctions, but some of the stuff he did seemed to be done with the intention to kill or seriously maim a person. La Carlotta, the prima donna, was often the victim of those vicious attacks. Even though the woman was beginning to be past her prime and her voice was no longer pleasing to listen to, did not mean that sandbags and backdrops needed to fall just inches from where she was standing. Knowing that the specter was able to do serious harm if he wanted to made me even more apprehensive about entering the cellars where it was said that he lurked. After all, how was I supposed to know what he was going to do if he found two silly ballet rats wandering around his domain?

Down we traveled until finally we reached one of the many doors that would take us to the cellars. Cecile seemed less confident but still placed her shaking hand on the knob and gave it a twist. The musty smell of the cellars invaded our nostrils as we stepped over the threshold. With only a single candle to light our way, we tiptoed along in search of the wine racks. Cecile had gone from gripping my arm to lacing her fingers into mine so we wouldn't get separated. "Melina, look!" Cecile exclaimed.

We had finally reached the wine racks. Quickly, I snatched a random bottle from the rack and we began to make our way back to the door. Getting to our destination without a hitch had caused a boost to our confidence. However, it was that newfound confidence that set us up for disaster. "Squeak!"

"A RAT!"

Cecile may have not feared spiders or even the Phantom of the Opera, but she did have a terrible phobia of rodents. In a state of sheer panic, she dropped the candle and took off running. "Cecile wait!" I called, trying to catch up to her.

I ran and ran, trying to find Cecile or at least the door. With the darkness throwing off my senses, I eventually ran right into a wall. I fell back and landed right on my rump, the bottle of wine flying out of my hand and shattering against the floor a few feet away. I scrambled from my feet and nervously looked about. There were no sounds in the air except for my heavy breathing. "Cecile?" I cried, my voice wavering.

With cautious steps, I wandered around in the cellar. It was so dark hat I could hardly see my own hand when I put it in front of my face. I reached another dead end and let out a wail of despair. 'I'm going to die down here!' I thought miserably, tears streaming down my face.

I turned and prepared to retrace my steps when, suddenly, the section of floor I had been standing on went out from under me. A shriek that I'm sure could have raised the dead expelled from my mouth as I tumbled down the dark pit. My body slammed into a body of water and I was instantly swallowed whole. Hysteria set in and I frantically kicked my legs to get back to the surface. I coughed and choked as my head broke through and let out a scream, hoping that someone would hear me and save me. I had never learned how to swim, so my head kept dunking underneath the water. My dress acted as a weight strapped to my body and kept trying to drag me down. Fighting the inevitable drained my energy quickly, and I felt myself giving up. Eventually, my strength failed completely and my head sunk below the water's surface for the last time. I had always thought drowning would be one of the worst ways to die, but as I floated downwards I felt strangely at peace. Like a long lost friend, the water embraced me and I allowed it to drag me deeper into its murky depths. As I lost consciousness, I was only vaguely aware of something wrapping underneath my armpits and pulling me upwards.


	3. Savior

**A/N: **Well, here's chapter two! I'm not particularly thrilled about it, but maybe you all will like it more than me? Also, I'd like to say thank you to my two reviewers! It's always good to know that at least some people enjoy this story! :)

Chapter 2: My Phantom Savior

A painful slam to my chest was what woke me up. I gasped before flipping onto my side to cough up all the water from my lungs. Eventually my hacks died away and I was left gulping down air with heaving breaths. My throat was burning painfully from coughing so hard, my chest throbbed in pain from the thing that had slammed down on it, and I had begun to shiver violently from chill that had come over me due to being soaking wet and lying on a cold, stone floor. I attempted to sit up but was so overcome by dizziness that I had to lie back down and shut my gray eyes to stop the world from spinning. I heard the rustle of clothes and then felt something like leather brush against my damp forehead. I heard the murmur of someone's voice, but I was too worn out to try and comprehend what was being said to me.

Suddenly, I felt myself being lifted and my eyes snapped open. Everything was still turning much too fast so I was once again forced to close my eyes. I was too weak to ask where I was being taken, so I had to trust that whoever was carrying me was bringing me to the opera house infirmary or at least back to my dormitory. Freezing, I snuggled myself closer to the warm body carrying me. The scent of fine cologne and the hard planes of the person's body screamed 'male' to me. I prayed that it was one of the few reasonable stagehands and not the perverse scum like Joseph Buquet. I may have only been twelve, but I would never want to be caught alone with one of the ornery ones. My body swayed as the man continued walking and soon I was lulled into a dreamless sleep.

I awoke in a more pleasant manner than the last. Instead of a harsh pound to the chest, soft music filled my ears as pulled me from the haze of sleep. I warily opened my eyes and was happy to see that the room was no longer spinning out of control. I found myself in a large bed buried in cotton sheets and a velvet comforter. The warm bed combined with the music made it very tempting to just fall back asleep. However, curiosity got the better of me and I sat up in the bed to take in my surroundings.

It looked like I was in a highly decorated cave. The walls and floor around me were made of rock. The whole room was lavishly furnished with an assortment of rugs, various forms of artwork, vases full of roses, and a few candelabras holding burning candles. Even the bed I was in was an exquisite masterpiece. The frame had been skillfully carved to look like a swan in flight. Wanting to know where the entrancing music was coming from I threw the covers off the bed. I blushed when I noticed how inappropriately I was dressed. The only thing I was clad in was a man's shirt that came to rest at my knees. Thankfully, the opening in the shirt had been sewn shut to cover my developing breasts. Still, it was embarrassing and somewhat frightening to think that someone, mostly likely a man, had undressed me and put me into that outfit. Running a hand nervously through my tangled black hair, I clambered out of the bed and began to walk towards the source of the music.

I entered the main part of the cavern and was astounded by what I saw. A lake surrounded the whole place. Candelabras were everywhere; they even came out of the water! Tapestries and artwork covered the walls and more rugs were on the floor. There was even a magnificent organ set up down there. It was at the organ bench that I discovered who was most likely had saved my life. He was bent over the keys, seemingly lost in the music as his body swayed to and fro. All I could see was the back of his head so the only thing that I could distinguish was that he had hair that was blacker than my own. Not wanting to disturb his gorgeous playing, I tiptoed down into the main part of the cave as silently as I could. My light dancer's feet served their purpose and I was able to get closer to the man without alerting him to my presence. The song ended on a harmonious chord that would make any person smile. With the song over, the trance that had been placed over me vanished and I quietly cleared my throat.

The man jumped at the sound and whipped around to face me. My eyes widened considerably when I noted that not only was the man quite handsome but there was a white mask covering the right side of his face. There was only one person that wore a white mask that the stagehands talked about. The realization that dawned on me was almost enough to send me reeling. "Y-y-you're," I stuttered, taking a small step backwards, "the Opera Ghost!"

The man, who was clearly not a ghost, stood from the bench and began to approach me. Fearfully, I took another step backwards. He took notice of my retreat and stopped right in his tracks. "Mademoiselle," he began, his soft voice coating over me like honey, "if I wanted to cause you harm, I would have just allowed you to drown in my trap."

I blinked in stunned surprise. He did have a point after all… If he really had wanted me dead, why would he have bothered saving me? While I was lost in thought, he began to approach me again. My body stiffened when I saw how close he had gotten, and I clenched my eyes shut as he reached out towards me with a leather-clad hand. I was stunned again when I felt him gently place the back of his hand against my forehead. "You should go back to bed, Mademoiselle. You're still running a slight fever."

I knew I should have been afraid. (After all, it was the Opera Ghost standing before me!) However, I felt strangely safe with him and allowed him to guide me back to the room I had come out of. Much like a parent would to a young child, he helped me back into the bed and tucked the covers around me. The parental gesture made my heart pang for my own mother and father who I rarely since coming to the Opera Populaire. He stood at the edge of the bed, staring at me as if he didn't know exactly what to do with me next. He looked ready to say something, but a loud, ill-timed rumbling from my stomach cut him off. With my face burning, I shot up into a sitting position and wrapped my arms around my stomach, attempting to quiet the insistent growls. The Phantom's lips twitched like he wanted to smile before he turned and walked out of the room without uttering a single word.

Roughly ten minutes later, he came back carrying a wooden tray with a steaming bowl and a plate of bread on it. He placed the tray on my lap and I discovered that the bowl contained a broth of some sort. For a few minutes we both sat there, him staring at me and me staring at the food. "Well, aren't you going to eat?" the Phantom finally snapped, seemingly fed up with my lack of movement.

Quickly, as to not irritate him more, I snatched up the spoon and dipped it into the bowl. After blowing onto the broth once, I stuck it in my mouth. The chicken broth didn't have much flavor, but after one taste I realized just how ravenously hungry I was. As fast as I could while still trying to maintain my manners, I gulped down the broth and tore through the bread. Once the bowl was empty and only crumbs remained on the plate, the Phantom, who had been standing at my bedside the entire time, leaned over and took the tray. As he was walking away I finally plucked up the courage to ask him what I had wanted to from the beginning, "Why are you being so nice?"

My question must have caught him off guard because he froze in place. I felt another embarrassed blush grace my cheeks as he turned towards me. "I'm sorry!" I exclaimed, lowering my head, "That was rude of me! It's just that, well, you're the Phantom of the Opera! You're not exactly known for your kindness. Just your name strikes fear into every worker, performer, and manager here! I'm sorry that was rude too! I—

My rambling was cut short by a hand covering my mouth. I looked up in fright into the Phantom's blue-green eyes. My thoughts immediately took a turn for the worst, and I feared that I had annoyed him enough to evoke his deadly wrath. "Ma petite, I may be a ruthless man, but I would never be able to forgive myself if I allowed a mere child die by one of my traps."

With that said, he stood from his kneeling position by the bed, took up the tray, and exited the room. A few minutes later, the sound of the organ filled the cavern once more. This time it was a more somber tune but it still was able to lull me back to sleep. As usual, I dreamed of dancing. Only this time, an angelic voice accompanied my every move I made across the glossy stage.


	4. Normalcy

Chapter 3: Return to Normalcy

**October 17, 1862**

When I next awoke, I did not find myself in the Phantom's comfortable swan bed. Instead, I opened my eyes and found myself staring at the ceiling of the Opera House's infirmary. Confused, I sat up in the bed and looked around. The entire room was empty of any occupants besides me, which was odd considering there was usually always someone getting hurt in preparation for a production. I was about to rise from the bed when the door creaked open.

"Mel!"

I was pushed back down onto the bed by a force with a mass of red hair barreling into me. Cecile clung to me tightly and I could feel her tears soaking my nightgown, which I had just noticed I had been changed back into. "I thought he had gotten you!" my friend cried, squeezing me even more tightly, "I was so scared that I would find you hanging from a prop with a Punjab lasso around your neck! I know I've always said I wasn't afraid of the phantom, but when you disappeared I honestly thought he had taken you! When I had heard that Joseph had found you and had brought you here I rushed over as soon as Madame Giry dismissed us from morning lesson!"

I gently comforted my friend as she continued to bawl into my nightgown. After reassuring her that I did not blame her for what had happened for what felt like the hundredth time, she finally calmed downed and was able to sit at the end of my bed dabbing her face with a handkerchief. "How long have I been missing?" I asked, wary about making her cry again.

"You were gone for a whole day. After we got separated in the cellars, I couldn't find you anywhere. I ran to Madame Giry and explained the whole situation to her. She's livid at us all. My toes are most likely still bleeding from all the dancing we've had to do and the cooks have been ordered not to give any of our troupe dessert for an entire month! All the stagehands have been looking for you since Madame went to the manager. It's just unfortunate that Bouquet found you… You kind of owe him your life now."

My nose crinkled in disgust at that thought. The last thing I wanted was to be indebted to that perverted man. There was only one way a man like that would consider adequate repayment for his "good deed". After all, who knew when he would consider me old enough to collect upon that debt? A sudden chill went down my spine.

Then after I thought for a moment, I wanted to protest about it being the stagehand that saved me. 'No!' I desperately wanted to cry out, 'The Phantom of the Opera is my savior! I owe him my life; not disgusting Bouquet!' I had to bite my tongue to keep myself from voicing my thoughts.

Cecile sat on my bed with me chattering away about what all had occurred during my absence. I only paid half the amount of attention I should have, but still caught a thing or two. Anne, one of the singers a few years older than us, had run away with one of the violinist to elope. Rumor had it that she was with his child and that her family was threatening to send her away to London. Malorie, one of the ballerinas in the corps, had broken her ankle and would more than likely never return to the stage. Meg, Madame's little nine-year-old daughter, had been caught playing in the rafters and was nearly skinned alive by her mother. "Honestly, the girl needs a playmate or something. She doesn't get along with her group since they all think Madame favors her for being her daughter. Really though, she's just a very dedicated dancer. She's always getting herself into trouble though," my friend rattled on, combing my hair with her fingers in a sisterly way.

Cecile was about to start braiding my hair when the door burst open with a loud 'BANG' causing us both to nearly jump out of our skins. Madame Giry stood in the doorway in all of her terrifying glory. The room suddenly went cold and I felt myself scooting closer to Cecile. The ballet mistress took deliberate steps towards us, her eyes nearly narrowed into two angry slits. The air was thick with tension, as she stood right at the bedside.

'SMACK' 'SMACK'

It happened so fast that neither Cecile nor I had even a fraction of a second to react. Both of us grabbed our stinging cheeks and bowed our heads. I squeezed my eyes tightly trying to prevent tears from coming out. The last thing that I would want Madame to see would be me crying. Tears always made Madame even more furious. "You two have to be the biggest imbeciles in this entire opera house!" she seethed, "Even worse than all those drunken stagehands!"

We stayed silent. Neither of us dared to utter a sound or look up at our instructor.

"You risk your lives all for a dare!" she continued, "Do you not know who haunts this place? Surely you two are not deaf! You are both very, very lucky he did not make an example of you to the other ballerinas."

"Yes, Madame. We understand, Madame," we both muttered in almost exact unison.

"Cecile you will leave now and prepare for your afternoon lesson. Miss Toupin and I still need to discuss some things."

Cecile did not argue and quickly bolted from the bed. She gave me one last sympathetic look before shutting the door behind her. The tension-filled silence once again filled the room after the door clicked shut. I could not look Madame in the eye. Instead, I took to staring intently at the peeling paint on the wall just behind her head. "This is not something I would have expected out of you Melina," Madame finally stated.

Her disappointment in me crashed over me like a wave. I blinked back more tears. "You are the best ballerina of your age group. You should not be wasting that talent on foolish dares," she continued on, "I thought you were better, more mature than that. Seems as if I was mistaken. Perhaps I was wrong about you becoming prima ballerina as well…"

A small, heartbroken gasp left my mouth at those words. My whole purpose in life was to be prima ballerina of the Opera Populaire. Not a wife or a mother like most would want. My sole purpose in life was to be a prima ballerina. It was the dream that drove me to throw everything I had into each and every time a pair of ballet slippers was put on my feet. To hear that I may not be able to achieve that goal made my heart feel like it was being ripped in two. "I'm sorry, Madame!" I cried, unable to stop my tears, "Please forgive me! I can do better! I will do better! Please give me another chance!"

I finally was able to look up into her eyes. I must have seemed desperate with the way I was pleading. I may have even seemed insane to some but they had no idea how those words effected me. The cold gaze she was giving me softened slightly when she noticed how distraught I had become. The sympathetic look went as soon as it came and the hard, cold mask was back into place. "You have a lot to make up for and learn Melina," she said, "Prove to me you want the chance to be prima ballerina as much as you claim to. No more silly behavior. No more foolish dares. Make me want to give you that leading role. You have so much potential; you just need to discipline yourself."

Then Madame did something I would never expect. The cold mask went away as she leaned down to wipe my tears with a handkerchief she had pulled from her dress. It was such a motherly gesture that I almost clung to her like a small child. "No more tears," she said, straightening back up, "The doctor insisted that you need one more day of rest so you are excused from this afternoon's rehearsal. Tomorrow I expect to see you for the morning lesson at the usual time. I shall send Cecile to assist you back to your dormitory."

"Thank you, Madame," I said, "I promise to make you proud!"

Madame nodded before beginning to walk towards the door. "Madame!" I called just before she was out the door.

The ballet mistress turned to look at me once more with an eyebrow raised. "They say Joseph Bouquet was the one who saved me from the cellars," I started slowly.

"Yes, he found you by one of the wine racks. Most likely he stumbled upon you on his was to make off with a bottle," Madame replied, her disdain for the stagehand ever evident.

"What if Mr. Bouquet wasn't the first to find me? What if someone had found me first then put me back in a place where I could be easily found by someone?"

Madame's eyes suddenly went colder than I have ever seen; even colder than when she was reprimanding me. "I thought we had just talked about losing that foolishness of yours Melina," she said, "Why would anyone find you then leave you down there instead of bringing you here?"

"Perhaps it was someone who did no wish to be seen?" I challenged.

"I will not entertain such a childish fantasy. Joseph Bouquet found you in the cellar and that is that. You were not discovered by anyone else, and you will not discuss this with anyone else. Good day, Melina."

The slam of the door ended that conversation. With a groan a flung myself back into a laying position on the uncomfortable bed. Just when I thought Madame was not going to be angry with me, I had to go and open my mouth. "But I know he saved me," I muttered to the ceiling, "He took me out of the water and made sure I was okay…"

I stared up at the ceiling lost in thought. "Maybe it was just a dream," I finally admitted to myself sometime later, "A fantasy conjured by my mind after I passed out by the wine rack… The Phantom does not show mercy to anyone who wanders into his domain, let alone a stupid ballet rat who goes down there because of a dare…"

I felt a headache forming from over thinking. I shifted around so I was on my stomach and buried my face into the pillow. "Just a dream," I mumbled.

Not long later, Cecile returned and walked with me back to the dormitory. Luckily, our roommates were off in the dining hall so I was not bombarded with questions. Cecile tried to get me to go with her to have dinner, but I declined since I honestly was not that hungry. She finally gave up on trying to convince me and went to join the other ballerinas and chorus girls leaving me, once again, on my own. I sat at the desk by my bed watching the candle on it burn. I pulled out a sheet of stationary and tried to write my sister a letter, but nothing sounded right and I really was not up for telling her what had happened to me. I knew I would only be in even more trouble if Mother or Father somehow caught wind of my fooling around. With an irritated sigh, I threw away my third stationary piece. I wandered around the room in boredom. Eventually, I found myself standing in front of the trunk that contained all my everyday shoes, ballet shoes, and tights.

I heaved open the heavy top and pulled out my pointe shoes and a pair of tights. I pulled on the tights underneath my nightgown and laced the shoes on my feet. Using the end of my bed as a makeshift barre, I began to go through my basic plies. Basic plies lead to degagés, which lead to me practicing my turns. Soon I found myself going through the routine Madame had taught us before I went "missing".

I felt free; I felt alive. Every worry or care I had seemed to just melt off my body. Nothing mattered except for ballet. I was in my own little world.

"Really Melina? You skip dinner to dance?"

With a shriek of surprise I fell out of the turn I was doing and onto my behind. I turned around, and there in the doorway stood Cecile with her arm crossed and an amused smirk on her face. "I should have known," she sighed dramatically, coming to help me up, "Your whole life revolves around ballet."

"Doesn't yours?" I questioned, taking the accepted hand.

Cecile shrugged. "I'm only really here because my grandmother wanted me to be a great dancer like her."

Cecile's grandmother had once been the prima ballerina when the Populaire was first built. It was when she retired from the stage that Madame Giry took her place. "She always said Madame was a much better dancer than her," Cecile said, sitting on my bed, "Also always used to say that it was a shame that Madame retired early to have a child. 'A waste of such a great talent to just become a teacher.'"

"So you don't really want to be prima ballerina?"

"I don't even know if I want to be in the corps even. I only dance to make her proud. I may have been born with ballerina blood but it just doesn't course through my veins like it does yours."

That was the first time Cecile had really opened up to me about why she was there. The ballerinas and other chorus girls were such diverse groups, each with their own story about why they were there or why they wanted to dance. "Sometimes I just get so jealous of you," she said, "You make me wish I could have the determination and the raw talent that you have. Things always come to you so effortlessly. You're always able to get right back up and go again even if it's the hundredth time Madame has made us do something and our toes are about to start bleeding. Your passion for dancing always seems to inspire those of us who would rather be doing something else with our lives. When you were gone, even though it was just for a day, you could just feel something missing."

I hugged my friend tightly. I couldn't even begin to thank her for the kind words she had spoken to me. So I just held onto her as tight as I could. She never asked for a thank you, she just returned the hug just as tight. In that moment, I knew our friendship was stronger than ever. Cecile truly was like a sister to me. I couldn't imagine life without her.

We broke apart when the other ballet rats began to filer into the room. Madeline was the first to come towards me. Almost immediately, she burst into tears and was begging for me to forgive her. She calmed down after I reassured her that I was fine and did not blame her for what had happened. Even though she had calmed down, for the rest of the night I would catch her rubbing at her eyes trying to prevent herself from crying. I was asked so many questions, a lot of them the same in different words so I ended up repeating myself more than once. I only gave them the basic story of passing out and only waking up in the infirmary. As Madame had warned me not to do, I did not discuss what I had thought really happened to me. I was slowly shutting the door on that idea, no longer wanting to entertain a foolish fantasy of a murdering ghost saving me from certain death.

Things were going to return to normal.


End file.
